Home Is Where the Hope Is
by parityparable
Summary: He was there for them, always, watching over them like a guardian angel. But sometimes, he just needed to be there for himself. Fang-centric one-shot, set during Angel.


**Summary: **He was there for them, always, watching over them like a guardian angel. But sometimes, he just needed to be there for himself. Fang-centric one-shot, set during Angel. 

**AN: **Hey there, reader. The main reason I wrote this one-shot is because the _My Stories _section on my profile is looking pretty meagre at the moment. I also wrote it to keep my creative urges at bay, because I've been doing some hard-core planning for a new story and I've had to force myself not to start writing it before I even finish planning (which, admittedly, is what normally happens, and then the story just kind of flops and I give up). :(

This one-shot marries up with a song called _Days Turn into Nights _by Delerium (featuring Michael Logen). You can listen to that here (just take out all the spaces):

ww w. youtube watch?v=wEhhMjoAmCI

I'm also really into the Seven Lions remix of this song, so here's the link if you want to check that out too:

ww w. youtube watch?v=qydS2JH8kEw 

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the characters described in this work, nor do I own any content affiliated with James Patterson's Maximum Ride series.

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_Home Is Where the Hope Is_

_One by one_

_The days turn into nights_

It had been a while since he'd done this.

He used to do it all the time… when he'd been part of the Flock. He'd felt guilty sometimes – what if they'd decided to ambush under cover of the velvet night?_ He should be there. He should be there. He should turn back – turn back, right now. Go home. Be there, for their sake. _And then he'd roll his shoulders and the feeling would slip off like a jacket, dissipating into the cool night air. He was there all the time, always; constantly watching over them and protecting them with every fiber of his being, a guardian angel. That was the point. That was why he ventured out alone when the moon rose, the reason for these private escapades – he was always there for them.

Sometimes, he just needed to be there for himself. 

_I pretend you're still with me_

_And all is right_

The situational contrast struck him like a freight train as he began to soak up the scenery, the feet in his worn black boots almost faltering on the miserable, rain-drizzled sidewalk. Almost.

It had all been trees and hills and grass, back at the E house. Rocks and caves and cliffs. Dirt and leaves and wind; oxygen that somehow tasted purer than here and sky that somehow looked clearer. He supposed that was because the air here was infused with gas fumes and the sky was tipsy and tainted by smog and artificial lighting. Then again, the city was beautiful in another way. The city was beautiful in a way that nature could never hope to achieve.

After all, the landscapes sculpted by Mother Nature and the landscapes carved by her mortal children both thrummed with life and vitality – only, there were different kinds of life, he concluded. Sure, trees and bugs and cows and stuff were pretty great (he could totally sit and talk about trees and bugs and cows all day) but people? Now, people were an entirely different story. People were… well, he was a person. He guessed that made him qualified to talk about how being a person felt.

He also felt, a lot of the time, as if he had a rather objective, analytical eye on humanity, for the most part. This could have been a product of many things: being only mostly human (as well as 2%, what? Raven? Crow? Coot? Boat-tailed grackle?), being isolated from society for the majority of his short life, being detached from people in general, having a pretentious streak with a superiority complex to match.

Well, it wasn't the last one, for sure (he hoped).

_Wake up to the dawn_

_This spinning sphere we're standing on_

As he rounded another corner, reality seemed to catch up to him, almost as if he'd been walking at normal speed in a world that was crawling along around him in slow-motion. His thoughts did that to him sometimes, but only when he let them.

The buildings here stretched right up into the caliginous night, reaching out as if they could touch the stars. The windows in them were bright as stars too, with the occasional dim glow or drawn curtains. Cabs, cars and the occasional bus or van hastily followed in the footsteps of the vehicles ahead of them, their engines rumbling determinedly. Huge animated billboards advertised all sorts of things at the crossroads he was approaching, their flashing text and vivid colors dancing across the screens.

It appeared that an effort to be eco-friendly had been made too, he noticed, as his aphotic eyes flitted over the trees on the corners of each sidewalk – they looked trapped, though, the metal bars around them clearly intended for public safety but seeming instead to cage them in (that was something he didn't like about cities. It was like man's gargantuan boot had come and stamped down on all of nature's hard work, in its place leaving only a microcosm of mankind's base greed and desire to destroy). But then, he liked the juxtaposition between the natural and the manmade, like two worlds intertwined. It was an odd mix, really.

He could only imagine how gorgeous this scene would be in time-lapse photography.

_One by one, the days turn into nights_

_Into night_

Well, if there was one good thing to come from flying the coop, it was a newfound sense of freedom. Of course, he hadn't been fortunate enough to kiss responsibility goodbye entirely – the burden of duty went hand in hand with leadership. But it was different now. The Flock had needed him, the Gang needed him now. The Flock could take care of themselves, the Gang could too. But the disparity, he mused, was in how he held the two groups in his mind's eye.

The Gang were his friends. The Flock… they were his _babies. _Including Max and Iggy. He felt just as Papa-Bear-ish towards all of them as Max had acted Mama-Bear-ish towards the kids. He was defensive of the Gang – meaning he would fend off any danger, should it arise – but of the Flock, he was protective – meaning he would shoo them out of harm's way entirely; 'any danger' wouldn't have a single chance to arise at all.

He felt his blood boiling just thinking about it. He took a deep breath and was pleasantly surprised to find the air outside the book store he was passing crisp and cold. He stopped for a second and was immediately jostled around by impatient pedestrians, so he deftly ducked into the alcove of the book store's recessed door.

Suddenly, he was reminded of why he preferred flying.

_One by one, the days turn into nights_

_Sky and sea collide like cosmic city lights_

His eyebrows dove inward for a split second before he decided the store behind him was probably his best option. Peering out from the alcove, he glanced upwards to count eight storeys in total. Hopefully there'd be an unlocked window on the other side of the building – he couldn't exactly climb out onto a window ledge, spread his wings and soar off into the night on this side without a fair few people picking up on something fishy.

Slipping into the building, he flinched almost imperceptibly as a harsh, jangling bell sounded above the door. The cashier's head shot up and she smiled, but he'd already disappeared behind a bookcase, making a beeline for the stairs, checking for security cameras all the while. There may not have been any recent Eraser sightings, but he would bet his left wing that the School wasn't finished with them yet.

_Wake up to the dawn_

_This spinning sphere we're standing on_

Fortunately, he found a window cracked ajar on the sixth floor – there was no one in this room and no cameras, but the overflowing bookcases shielding his escape route from sight gave him a stronger sense of security, nonetheless.

And just like that, he had slipped away into the darkness, once again.

_One by one, the days turn into nights_

_Into night_

There was nothing better than flying. Nothing.

It was totally indescribable by any and all means. Trying to express the feeling of flight was enough to convince a person that they had alexithymia.

He'd said that around a centillion times, but he could never mean anything more. If there was one thing in the world that he would always remember, it was how flying felt – he couldn't get his head around it sometimes, how something that every kid everywhere wished with everything they had that they could do was something he did every day. But hey, he wasn't about to complain. Especially not now.

_You don't have to be alone anymore_

_(It's just a dream)_

The wind was louder than anything. The wind was so powerful. It blocked out all other sounds almost completely, leaving the beating of his wings to battle it out with the horns of the cars below just to be heard. He was glad of it, because when he flew, the wind was his everything. It was all around, breathing down his neck, breathing life into his wings; embracing him, carrying him, whispering to him. _I won't let you fall. I won't let you fall._

And he knew he wouldn't fall. Not while he had the wind and the wind had him. They were each other's, now and forever.

_Ready or not, there goes the sun_

_Another day, over and done_

He allowed himself just a little longer like that, floating in a puddle of pure, unadulterated happiness as he weaved through the backstreets of the city and sold himself to the sky. Soon enough, though – so soon, too soon – reality came crashing down on him like the sky had shattered and, with heavy heart and heavy wings, he honed in on the hotel where he and the Gang had crashed for the night.

This happened every time. He felt so alive, so free, for just one tantalizingly short space of time, before the perfection was brutally ripped from reach and it suddenly felt like he was falling, falling, down, down, forever. Like his chest had swung open in mid-air and his heart had fallen out and he could never get it back. It was torture.

But it was worth it.

_Ready or not, there goes the sun_

_Another day, what have I done?_

They were all there when he slunk back in through the window he'd left open, sprawled out across the room. Kate was draped gracefully over the couch and her counterpart, Star, slumped up against its side on the floor. Ratchet had fallen asleep watching TV, which Fang promptly switched off and, ironically, Holden was lying spread-eagle in the middle of the carpet like a starfish. Maya –

"Fang?" Oh. There she was, paused timidly in the doorway to the bathroom. He acknowledged her with a glance, and then pretended to be doing something or other with the cables behind the TV while he sewed his stoic veil on once more. When he felt he was satisfactorily dispassionate, he stood, his fingertips gliding along the crest of the television. Maya was still hovering in the door frame, eyeing him thoughtfully with a hint of suspicion. "Where were you?"

_You don't have to be alone anymore_

His eyes filled with nostalgia and he exhaled deeply with an inaudible yet oh-so-wistful sigh. He cast his now pensive, almost mournful gaze towards the window again, remembering. Memories of being one with the moon and stars flooded his mind.

"Home."

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**AN: **Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you think, so if you could spare me 20 seconds and smack that review button, I'd love you forever. 3

Fly on. ;)

- Leo


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